Outcast No More
by Outcast's Lady
Summary: Erik flees to America after the opera fire, but cannot leave his memories behind. Can he find happiness amongst people trying to rebuild a country shattered after a civil war? Please R&R.
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Phantom of the Opera in any of its forms, though this story is based on the ALW movie.

Thanks to my sister Phangirl321 for all your help.

* * *

**Prologue**

A seaman poked his head into the small, rank-smelling cabin. "Can I get you something, Sir?" He asked in a nervous American accent. His eyes were wide with fright, perhaps from the ship's tossing and rolling, or from the memory of past dealings with this mysterious passenger the captain had taken on while in port at Cherbourg, France. For enough money, the captain would take on board anyone with out asking questions.

"I don't want any food, damn you! Just get this ship into a port!" The man yelled viciously. He had suffered from seasickness since the beginning of the voyage.

"Yes—yes, Sir!" The young man stammered and closed the door.

"_Mon Dieu," _Erik groaned as his stomach pitched and rolled in unison with the ship, "That I had let the mob kill me! Erik, you fool! What business do you have sneaking halfway across the world to a strange country?" He was but one outcast following the path of many others before him.

He clutched his stomach as a severe cramp seized him. "God," He growled, "if You want to punish me, just strike me dead! Anything is better than this living hell!"

He fell out of the narrow berth while chasing the slop bucket across the pitching floor.


	2. Fallen Angel

**Fallen Angel**

**New York City **

**April 1871**

"Well, Bess, let's get out of these parts," Old Zeke said to his mare and turned his cab around. "Nothin' down here but trouble and more trouble."

The docks along New York City's East River were a dangerous and vile place. With taverns and bawdy houses, drunk sailors and cutthroats, Zeke tried not to visit this side of the city any more than necessary, but sometimes a customer came down this way on business. He was more than happy to drive back to the more familiar streets of Manhattan.

Zeke had no more than turned his cab around than he heard yelling and cursing. Out front of a broken down tavern a shabby, unkempt youth was beating a tall figure dressed in black. His head was wrapped in a shawl or scarf for protection from the cold, misty weather. He was weakly trying to protect himself, but the assailant was fired by rage and pummeled him with brutal punches to the head and abdomen.

"Don't you have anything worth stealin'?" He was screaming.

Zeke whipped Bess' back and charged her at the robber. He saw a flash of steel in the dimming daylight. The victim staggered as the blade disappeared out of Zeke's sight. The mare hit the thief with a blow from her shoulder, sending him screaming and rolling into the alley beside the tavern. He struck his head on an abandoned barrel and lay still, knocked out cold.

Zeke hurried down from his perch on the driver's seat as quickly as his aging body would allow and saw that the tall man was unconscious. The knife protruded from his right side, just above his waist. Blood was soaking his dark clothing.

Zeke pulled out his handkerchief and wrapped it around the hilt of the knife to help slow the flow of blood. With considerable effort, he manhandled the man's body to the cab and lay him on the floor inside. He wouldn't take any more passengers tonight, because he had to tend to this one. He shivered as he climbed back onto the driver's seat. His old bones didn't like the chilly April night.

Zeke took up the lines and clucked to the mare as the cab continued down the street. "Another stray for Katie, aye, Bess?" He spoke to the horse as one might to an old friend. He knew where this poor stranger could get the best care in town.

* * *

_The small bed was empty! Erik looked around the dim room. The little girl named Christine was gone!_

_His heart battered his ribs as he began a frantic search of the gloomy corridors and backstage rooms of the opera house, then went to the towering boxes. For an even better view of the cavernous auditorium, he walked the catwalk past the clouds painted on the domed ceiling. His sharp eyes picked up no sign of the small figure in the rows of plush seats, however. _

_Suddenly, a blur of white caught his eye. On the stage, she sat huddled in her nightgown, her arms hugging her knees. He had to get to her before she roused anyone…especially the lecherous scene-shifter, Joseph Buquet._

_Erik dropped from the flies above the stage like a silent shadow. Seven-year old Christine had begun to rock back and forth and sing in a sweet, soft voice. Erik remained still, unsure how to proceed. He didn't want to frighten her or let her know his identity. _

_He watched as she rose to her feet and began a slow twirl. She danced to her own song, her eyes closed. She was dancing in her sleep! As she spun, he started toward her on silent cat's feet. _

_Suddenly, the floor beneath her small bare feet opened, and she descended out of sight in a flash of billowing white. _

"_No!" Erik screamed. _

* * *

_Heat, torturing heat…_

_Embers falling from overhead…_

_The opera house burning…_

_Christine wouldn't know the way out…_

"_Christine! Christine! Come back! I can show you the way!" Erik screamed as he searched his rooms to find her. She had followed Raoul up into the flames above. _

"_I've killed her!" He sobbed, thrashing into the red glowing waters of the lake._

_Give in, Erik, it's all over, let the water end the darkness…blessed cool water._

_The water closed over his head and peaceful darkness overtook him…_


	3. The Angel In Hell

**The Angel In Hell**

Kathleen Flannery was exhausted. She looked at the large man in the bed and felt like she had been fighting with him for a solid day rather than just eleven hours. She had sent for the doctor, but he had been away on a call, so she had done the best she could stitching up the knife wound.

She had seen countless medical procedures done during her time as a battlefield nurse before the end of the War Between the States six years earlier and wasn't surprised that fever had set in, what with the knife wound and the state of the man's health otherwise. He appeared to have been quite sick before the beating, for he was gaunt, unclean, and smelled vile.

Kathleen had no idea what terrors he'd seen in his delirium, but he'd fought her gentle efforts to help him at every turn. She finally resorted to tying him to the bed. While fever raged in his body, demons seemed to rage in his deformed, proud head. In profile on the pillow, the left side looked thin but handsome, even aristocratic, but the right side of his face had startled her when she unbound it. Ridges and scars marred that side of his face and his lower eye lid was pulled down hideously. She discovered he wore a wig when his black hair shifted, causing her to jump back in shock. His clothing had been of good quality, so she had to wonder where this stranger had come from and perhaps from what noble family.

Parts of what Kathleen supposed was his past came out in his demented groaning and raging in French. From what she could gather from her rusty understanding of this language she hadn't used since her school days, he had been in a fire and a woman called Christine must have perished in it, for he continually wailed for her. Kathleen wept with him when he brokenly cried out, begging to die for not saving her life.

Five days after his rescue, his fever at last burned itself out and his body began to heal. He slept peacefully and took the liquid nourishment Kathleen forced down him. Now she needed sleep as well, for all through his illness she had never left his side. She had slept in a chair in his room and kept the troubled man's many difficulties to herself.

* * *

"Katie Girl, how's the patient?" Zeke asked a week after leaving the beaten man in her care.

Kathleen sighed, feeling much older than her twenty-nine years. Pushing stray black curls from her forehead, she gratefully took a chair across the kitchen table from her friend.

"He's eating in a way and sleeping peacefully at last, but he hasn't come awake yet." Her Irish lilt became more pronounced when she was tired.

Mrs. Maloney, the cook, was preparing the elder gentleman a hot cup of tea to warm him after a day driving his cab through the city streets, for a Spring drizzle had made the day gloomy and damp.

Zeke noticed the shadows under Kathleen's silvery-blue eyes. "Don't you get yourself sick, lass. You have a lot of people depending on you, me included," He cackled and winked at her.

Kathleen counted on this gentle man's help very much and often, and he gave it unselfishly. He had no family close by so he delighted in entertaining the eighteen orphans who called the Samuel Price Orphanage home and helping around the big house and grounds.

Samuel Price had left instructions in his will that his estate on a fashionable Manhattan street be turned into an orphanage. If his affluent neighbors didn't like it, they could move, Kathleen often remembered him saying.

The stately red brick mansion with its white columns and many rooms made a perfect home and school, and in the four years since its opening, the orphanage had become known for its well-educated, mannerly children, and these qualities were much sought after by prospective parents.

Kathleen's mother had worked here in Samuel Price's home before his death, and while some reviled the Irish, he had lived by a firm resolve to judge one by what they did, not by their race or nationality. In his will, Mr. Price had stipulated that Kathleen was to be headmistress of the orphanage, and his substantial fortune was to fund the home. A trustee at his bank saw to the financial side of things, leaving Kathleen free to teach the children.

She was given a generous salary, most of which she spent on the children. She had a home and few wants or needs and it pleased her to bring joy to the children who had lost so much in their young lives. But the children were not the only ones who benefited from her generosity. They home any number of abandoned and injured dogs, cats, and birds and each thrived from her tender care, so much so that Kathleen came to be known for taking in "strays" of all sorts.

Zeke eased stiffly from his chair, slapped his flat cap on his head and said to the portly, rosy-cheeked cook, "Fine cup of tea, Mrs. Maloney." Kathleen walked him to the back door.

Zeke kissed her soft cheek. "Night lassie." He then lowered his shaggy grey brows sternly. "Get some sleep, Katie. Let one of the other ladies care for that man tonight."

Kathleen just nodded and kissed his grizzled cheek. She couldn't tell him that she wouldn't subject anyone else to the ravaged face and hellish nightmares of the stranger upstairs, for they would surely flee in terror. As it was, Kathleen was sure they had already heard the cries and screams coming from the room at the end of the hall.

Just as she closed the door behind Zeke, loud banging from above commanded her attention. She told the cook she was free to go home for the night and threw an excuse over her shoulder about seeing what the boys were making all the racket about, though she strongly suspected the banging had nothing whatsoever to do with the boys. As she climbed the graceful staircase to the second floor, she became sure of it. The masculine roar coming from behind her patient's locked door started her heart jumping.


	4. In The Lair

**In The Lair**

The yelling stopped for a moment. Kathleen's anger was over-riding her thumping heart as she hoped he hadn't torn his wound open again. She put some iron in her spine and unlocked the door. She pushed it, but it stopped against something solid.

Kathleen sighed. That man had evidently fallen in front of the door. She pushed firmly to get enough space to squeeze through the opening. He groaned as the door pushed against him. She closed it behind her and in the dim light of the room could see him sitting semi-upright against it.

With an exasperated sigh, she turned up the lamp on the bedside table and turned to look at him, hands firmly planted on her hips. _Sweet Bridget, how am I going to get this lunker back into bed?_ She wondered, before deciding to check his wound first.

She picked up the lamp and kneeled down beside him to examine him. The light put his scarred cheek in the light and the smooth one in shadow. He groaned and blinked his eyes in the brightness, and then his damaged eye stared at her.

Kathleen gasped. His eye was brilliant emerald—like Ireland's own green shores, she thought. He rolled his head toward her so that his smooth cheek was now in the light.

"Does my face horrify you, Madame?" He growled in heavily accented English.

She had secretly been studying her French again in anticipation of speaking with him once he awoke, and was surprised that he spoke English at all.

"Your face bothers me not at all now," She answered in French.

"Just what Christine said-" He finished with a soft groan. Then he seemed suddenly embarrassed and snapped, "Speak English! You do me no favors by butchering my native tongue, since English is the official language of America is it not?"

She ignored his rudeness for the moment and put the lamp down. "I need to check that." She indicated his side and waited for him to unbutton his loose-fitting shirt. The wound looked a little red but the stitches had held.

_Wish Zeke were still here_, she thought. "You're going to have to help me get you back into bed, Sir," She stated.

"Sir," He repeated with a dark bitter laugh. "No one has ever shown me such respect." _Except when I demanded it_, he thought to himself.

Kathleen moved to his left side and gently put his arm across her shoulders. "Push up if you can as I lift," She said. She raised his upper body as he pushed up with his right arm and clumsily pushed himself up against the door. Both of them grunted with the effort; Kathleen from his weight on her slender frame, and he from the pain and tremendous effort it took to make his weakened limbs work.

Once he was upright, they both rested against the door for a moment before beginning the slow trek back to the bed in the middle of the large room. Kathleen felt as if his tall height and dead weight would bend her five-foot-six-inch form in half.

By the time he flopped onto the bed, they both were breathing hard and sweating. She eased his long legs up onto the bed and adjusted the pillows under his head.

He laid still, his eyes closed, thoroughly worn out. Kathleen brought the lamp back to its place on the bedside stand, and the light brought out the angles of his handsome profile—the beastly side stayed in darkness. She studied him, wondering who he was. She knew he was French, but what was his name? There had been no identification on him when Zeke found him, just a small bundle of belongings under his shirt.

"It's truly horrible, is it not Madame?" He asked, his voice grating in the silent room, causing her to jump. He turned his head on the pillow, highlighting the scars on his face, as his green eyes bore into hers. "A face even a mother could not love."

He raised his head, the muscles in his neck standing out like strong cords, his eyes burning with fury. "Why didn't you let me die, woman, and save the world the sight of me!" He dropped his head and turned it into the pillow. "Why?"

Kathleen placed a warm hand on his arm to comfort him, an impulse born of her years soothing hurt and crying children.

He turned his head restlessly from side to side. "Don't!" He cried hoarsely. "Get out! Leave me alone!"

She did as he asked and left him weeping miserably, alone. But she prayed for him that night as she hadn't prayed for anyone in a long time. As she lay trying to sleep, she wondered if there was anything in the room he could harm himself with.

* * *

The next morning, after the children had been served breakfast and settled into their lessons, Kathleen approached the "lion's den" as she'd come to think of her patient's room. She knocked solidly on the oak-paneled door. No roars or growls answered her. She held a silver tray with a tea service and a substantial breakfast on one arm and unlocked and opened the door quietly with the other hand. 

Soft snores rumbled from the bed. After his tantrum last night it was no wonder he was worn out, Kathleen thought, putting the tray on the writing desk. She drew open the drapes on the two tall windows that overlooked the garden at the back of the house. Pale sunshine brightened the room.

"Shut those damned drapes, woman!" Came the surly order from the bed.

Kathleen turned from viewing the spring day, and with slender hands on her hips, retorted saucily, "You're so ready to get out of that bed, so you come shut them yourself, Sir!"

Her Irish accent was more pronounced when her ire was up.

"Stop calling me, Sir, woman! My name is Erik!"

"And my name is Kathleen, not woman!" She shot back. She turned away sharply and poured a steaming cup of tea from the fine porcelain pot on the tray.

When she turned back around, he was watching her closely. Her cheeks flamed and she nearly dropped the tray. She had been alone with this man in this bedroom many times before, but he had been unconscious and needed medical care. Now he was wide awake and staring at her intently, as if measuring her with his startling green eyes.

She stiffened her spine as she carried the tray over and set it on the bed stand. He watched her every move, making her feel like a mouse under a cat's gaze. When was he going to pounce?

Then she walked across the room. At the door she turned back around, her head held high. "Good morning, Erik." She said and closed the door before he could utter a word. Maybe he would be in a better mood when she returned later, she hoped. From what she had seen so far, though, she doubted it.

* * *

"Witch," Erik groused after his caregiver left, even as the aroma from the tray she had brought made his mouth water and his stomach rumble. His mood began to mellow as he savored the tea's sweetness, and reached for the heaping plate of food. He devoured every morsel. 

He longed to get out of bed, but with his body now fed, he felt the need to rest again. He lay down and let his eyes wander over the fine furnishings in the room. Where was he? Whose fine house was he in? Sleep claimed him before he could get any of his questions answered.


	5. Lost Angel

**Lost Angel**

Kathleen returned three hours later with a stack of books from the library to help alleviate Erik's boredom. He was healing, but was still in no condition to be out of bed. She came into the room determined to be cheerful and not let him anger her.

She placed the books on the writing desk and turned to see if he had gone to sleep again, for he was quiet. He was awake, but had the strangest look on his face—his jaw clenched and his eyes closed.

Kathleen rushed to his side. "Erik, are you in pain?"

"Yes," He said with gritted teeth. "But not from the wound. I need-" His face actually flushed. "All that tea I drank…"

Understanding dawned and Kathleen's face turned a bit pink as well. Fortunately she had dealt with this situation many times as a nurse. In a no-nonsense voice she asked, "Do you feel like standing or-"

Erik's face turned crimson and he wouldn't look at her. "I'll stand!" He snapped. The alternative was mortifying.

Kathleen removed the chamber pot from under the bed, putting it where he could get to it without difficulty. She then helped him to his feet and left the room, deciding she would give him a while to settle back into bed. She smiled a little as she swept down the stairs. He had actually been embarrassed! So, he was a normal human being after all.

She instantly chided herself. "Look at what he's been through! He comes to a strange country, clearly ill, and gets stabbed right off the ship, added on top of the horrors of his past. Still that nasty temper of his needs some work!"

* * *

Erik had spent the afternoon reading one of the books Kathleen brought to him, and after a light supper, he'd fallen asleep early. Now he guessed it was very late, since the house was silent. He lay and watched flashes of lightening brighten the dark room. He had awakened after dreaming of Christine again.

In the dream she was the lonely little girl of years ago, right after she first came to the opera, orphaned and grieving for her father. The pitiful cries coming from her room at night had drawn him to her, for he knew that kind of pain—belonging to no one, being loved by no one.

_After she began sleepwalking, he kept a close watch on her at night and locked her door to keep her safe. One night, he heard her weeping and talking to her father. _

"_Papa, where is the angel you promised? Can't you come and talk to me for a little while? I miss you so!" She began to cry uncontrollably, and Erik had to put his ear to the door to hear her words clearly. "You won't play for my birthday on the violin or at night before bed! You won't write me any new songs!"_

And so the Angel of Music had become real for Christine, beginning as a harmless way for him to comfort a lonely child. Erik had begun playing the violin at night to soothe her, and as she had grown, he had sung and talked to her and finally began teaching her as well.

Erik pulled himself back to the present with a harsh, "Stop it, Erik! She belongs to that fool Raoul! She made her choice! You told her to go, too."

Still he couldn't help arguing with the annoying inner voice. "By why give me the ring?"

He clamped his hand on his head, wishing he could crush the memories out. He threw back the bed clothes and staggered to the window. Rain ran in rivulets down the pane. Tears ran in parallel down his cheeks. Lightning illuminated the gardens in the back of the house. Erik saw a large fountain in the center—strange shadows danced over it as the trees swayed overhead.

He found his way out of the house by way of a servant's stairway that went out to the gardens. He had to rest at intervals to keep from being overwhelmed by dizziness. The cold rain poured down steadily, soaking his clothes within moments.

The Grecian maid in the fountain stared at him with cold indifference in the freakish blue flashes of light, and he swayed as if drunken and staggered over to her. With tremendous effort, he pulled himself up on the bowl of the fountain and wrapped his arms around the stone maiden's neck and raged at the flashing heavens, "Kill me! Strike me dead as I asked You to before! I'm good for nothing! I killed two men in hate! And I wanted to kill de Chagny for loving Christine!"

He closed his eyes and waited for the killing bolt that would end it all. Lightning continued to flash, but no death blow came.

"I'm here!" He screamed, shaking his fist above his head. "I want to die!"

His strength began to fail, and he hugged the statue to steady himself as his body shook with racking sobs. "You don't care either," He choked out bitterly, as the world spun sideways and went black.

* * *

Kathleen sat down hard on the kitchen floor with a "humph". She couldn't drag Erik's sodden bulk any further. There was no way her slender body could man-handle him up the stairs to his room.

"Stupid, daft man!" She fumed through gritted teeth. "All the time I put into saving your hide and you go out and try to drown yourself! You're lucky I sleep lightly or you could have been out there all night!" His shoulders were lying across her legs, and she gave them an ill-tempered shove. Erik groaned in his sleep, but did not stir.

"You're enough to make a saint swear, Erik!" Kathleen muttered in exasperation, thinking how uncomfortable their resting place for the night would be. "At least you have a pillow!" She looked down at his dark shape in the dim light from the kitchen stove, his head pillowed in her lap, the rest of him strung out on the wet floor.

"I can't leave you wet or you'll surely get sick again. It would serve ya right, stupid man!" She whispered sharply. She lifted his torso enough to scoot out from under him, then let his head meet the floor with a little "whack". That got a pained groan from him and he began to stir. Kathleen lit an oil lamp on the table before going to find him some dry clothes.

When she returned, he was where she had left him, only awake this time. She stood over him in dry night clothes. Her hair hung in wet black ringlets and made damp spots on her robe. Her silver-blue eyes stormed at him.

"Next time you want to rid the world of yourself, go do it somewhere else, so I don't have to deal with your worthless carcass!"

Erik closed his eyes for a moment. "Come around here, woman," He rasped out. "I'm getting a headache looking at you upside down." His eyes opened and he glared at her. "That and that rap you gave my head!"

"Shut up, Erik! I ought to take Mrs. Maloney's skillet to you!" Kathleen snapped over her shoulder. She stirred the embers in the stove and fed the fire to heat water for tea. They both needed a hot drink to warm them.

Then she turned and picked up a piece of clothing from the table. "We'd best get this dry night shirt on you before you catch a chill. I have enough to do without having you sick any longer." She lifted his shoulders and helped him sit upright. "Unbutton your shirt," She ordered. When it was done, she pulled it from his body. "Let me look at your wound."

She checked first he smaller wound on his back where the knife point had poked through, and then around at the longer cut on his side. Fortunately the knife had missed any vital organs and had gone cleanly through. "I'll have the doctor come tomorrow and check you over, but I think you're healing fine, in spite of all your attempts to prevent it."

"No doctor!" Erik said sharply, his eyes hard.

"He's been here to see you once, Erik. Once more won't hurt."

He leaned toward her menacingly. "I won't see the doctor again. You have been doing a fine job."

"But he-"

"No, Kathleen!" He ground out, struggling to rise from the floor. She had no choice but to help him to a chair. She saw to the tea while Erik sat staring moodily into the flame of the lantern.

_I wonder if Madame Giry, Meg, and Christine got out of the opera house. I have much to atone for. I should have jumped overboard when I was on that ship!_

"Erik, tea." Kathleen said, but he seemed to be far away, his eyes filled with tears.

"Erik?"

"Hmm?" He jerked back to the present. "Thank you," He said, acknowledging the cup in front of him.

"Here, let's get this dry shirt on you." Kathleen put the long shirt over his head and he put his arms in the sleeves. "Undo your pants and I'll pull them off for you."

He looked ready to argue, but she snapped, "Just do it, Erik!"

He stood and turned around. As he unfastened his damp trousers, he let the long tail of the shirt fall and sent his pants south.

"Sit in the chair," Kathleen said. He obeyed without comment and she pulled the pants from around his ankles.

Erik looked everywhere but at her, and the undamaged side of his face was decidedly rosy.

"I keep getting you out of tough spots, don't I, Erik?" She couldn't resist saying with a little smirk that was just a trifle mean.

"I don't want to discuss it, Madame," He sniffed. "It's not decent."

"It may not seem decent to talk about, but in both cases it had to be done," She said pragmatically. "I've long since lost any embarrassment about dealing with men's bodies. Four years of working in field hospitals during the war took care of that."

"You were a nurse?" He asked with a frown, clearly interested. "In what war?"

"The late War Between the States, of course. It started in 1861 and ended in 1865."

"Here in America?" He asked in surprise.

"Yes, here in America." Kathleen had to wonder where he had been all that time. Europe had newspapers too. Didn't he read them? Why, some European countries had even thought of helping the South for a time.

She yawned then and took the teacups to the sink. "We had better get to bed, or I'll never get up in the morning." She looked at him cockily. "Some of us don't have the luxury of staying in bed all day."

"I can't wait to get out of it, Madame," He said stiffly. "It's rather a bore to lie about."

"You mean to give life a chance then?" She said with a sideways look, pulling his long arm over her shoulder as they began the slow work of getting back up to the second floor. "I'm not doing this anymore, Erik. You're too big for me to always be draggin' out of trouble."

Erik almost laughed. He was beginning to like this woman's sharp wit, and he admitted to himself that he liked to watch her eyes turn to liquid silver when she got angry. Not many people had ever dared to stand up to him, with the exception of Madame Giry. She had been the closest thing to a friend he had ever had in his hellish life, and he wondered now where she was and if she was safe.


	6. What The Outcast Learns

**What the Outcast Learns**

Kathleen had prolonged bringing Erik his breakfast. Since it was Saturday, the children and staff slept later, giving Kathleen a break from the week's routine also.

After his refusal to eat the night before, she was determined to see that he ate this morning. She brought his breakfast into the room with a cheerful "Good morning, Erik!"

He didn't answer or acknowledge in any way that she was in the room. He sat in the chair by the window, looking out at the fresh spring day, but Kathleen wondered if he saw anything of it at all. His face was expressionless—remote.

He finally came out of is trance long enough to say gruffly, "In the drawer by the bed, Kathleen—the parcel you brought me. Please put it back in the safe."

Kathleen sensed that he was grieving in some way, for he acted like someone who had lost a dearly loved one. Whatever was in that pouch must have something to do with the woman Christine.

She came to his side and laid a warm hand on his tense shoulder. "Erik, please eat something. You must regain your strength."

He barely refrained from screaming at her, "Regain my strength for what? For whom?"

* * *

Erik had dozed off in the chair again, but something jarred him from his slumber. He blinked in confusion and looked around the sunny room.

"Mith Katie…" A small voice said.

Erik turned with surprise toward the door. A pixie of a child of about five or six stood frozen with surprise.

Suddenly shy, she said haltingly, "Thorry, Mithter. I forgotted-Mith Katie don't thay in here no more-" And she backed out of the door and began to close it.

"Wait!" Erik called in a rusty, but gentle, voice.

She stopped and peeked around the door at him, blue eyes wide in her round face.

"Please come in," Erik said, holding a hand out to her. As she shuffled closer, he thought she looked like a cupid. Blonde corkscrew curls rioted all over her head. A red bow mouth and turned up nose completed the angelic face. She stopped cautiously just out of his reach, her hand clasped behind her blue pinafore.

Erik was careful to keep the pleasant side of his face turned toward her. It wouldn't do to send his first visitor screaming from the room.

"So, this is Miss Kathleen's room, is it?" He asked.

"Not no more," the tiny girl said. "Thhe stayth with the big girlth now."

_The big girls_, he thought, trying to put a puzzle together that he didn't have all of the pieces for. He had some questions for Kathleen.

"Just since I've come?" He asked.

"Yeth, thince Mithter Zeke brung you."

Erik noticed the gap in the child's small white teeth, causing the charming lisp when she spoke.

"Mr. Zeke—is he Miss Kathleen's husband?"

Her blue eyes widened. "Mithter Zeketh old, and I donth think Katie got no husbandth, but Tommy liketh her."

Erik had to smile at these childish observations, but he wondered why it should matter whether Kathleen was married or not.

"What's your name, Cherie?" He asked, again careful to keep his face arranged so she only saw the unmarked side.

She walked to the window and looked out. "Nameth Prithilla. Hey! You can thee far from up here. Thereth Mith Katie!" She exclaimed and ran for the door. "Bye!" She called and slammed it soundly.

Erik smiled, having enjoyed this new experience of talking to a child face to face. He leaned toward the window to see what had caught the girl's attention.

Children of different ages ran across the new grass, pursuing each other with funny looking feathers in their hair. Other boys wearing hats of some sort chased them back, each shooting wooden guns and bows and arrows. Smaller boys chased a large hoop with a stick. Erik opened the window, fascinated by the busy activity. Squeals of excited laughter drifted up to him.

_So this is what it is like to be a normal child_, he thought. Over the years he had often watched the ballet students at the opera, but this was different. This was pure joyous child's play.

Kathleen came into his line of vision as she strode purposefully across the grass to break up a disagreement between two teen boys. Her dark curls were pulled back at the nape of her neck with a light blue ribbon. A few stray curling strands played around her ears. She was dressed in a crisp white shirtwaist and navy skirt. At her sharp command, the boys broke up the fight, exchanged words, shook hands, and went their separate ways.

After overseeing the peacemaking process, Kathleen turned her attention to two older girls who called to her to join them at skipping rope.

Erik watched, entranced, as Kathleen picked up her skirts and jumped the swinging rope. She laughed along with the girls, her curls bouncing playfully, her cheeks bright with the exertion.

After several minutes, she jumped away from the twirling rope. Breathless and rosy, she picked up a small boy who begged to jump too. She then jumped back in with him for another round. The boy giggled with abandon.

As he watched, Erik felt as though steel fingers gripped his windpipe. This was what mothers and children were supposed to do. He did not even notice the tears that dripped onto his shirt front.

* * *

"Erik!" Kathleen called breathlessly, coming into his room. "Pricilla tells me that she visited with a man in my room!" She chuckled before continuing. "I'll wager she was surprised to find you in here instead of me."

He did not respond, but continued to stare out the window. "Erik?" She touched his shoulder, startling him. He turned surprised eyes to her. Eyes that were suspiciously red.

It was Kathleen's turn to be surprised by the obvious signs of his distress. She hadn't seen him cry since his first days here when he had been plagued by nightmares.

She knelt in front of his chair. "Erik? What is it? Can I help?"

Another tear skimmed down his cheek and he closed his eyes, as if unable to bring himself to look at her. "This pain!" He gasped.

"Where?" She gasped with alarm.

He laid a broad hand on his damp chest. "In here."

Kathleen sighed. At last the ice was breaking.

"There is so much I missed." His deep voice cracked. "I watch you with them and see how a mother should be with her children." His voice became brittle. "But you see Kathleen, I wasn't a normal child. To my mother I was nothing but a beast."

"No! Erik, how cruel!" She cried out, her heart aching for him. She clasped his hands between her own, tears welling in her eyes.

This time he let her touch him, comfort him. He laid his head on her shoulder and cried once more as she caressed his back and his face, all of his face, feeling only his pain, not his deformity.

Something stirred in her heart, but she pushed it away, unwilling to examine what it might be. _It's just the emotion of the moment_, she told herself. _He's a stranger_, _Kathleen and he cares for someone else_, she rationalized.

"I assumed from your ravings during your illness that this-" She touched the scars on his cheek. "happened to you in a fire."

Erik's heart hammered and he pulled back from her. Just what had he said in his dementia? Had he told all of his sordid, violent tale? If he had told all, wouldn't Kathleen have contacted the police? He was a murderer after all.

He shook his head in answer to her question. "My parents hated the sight of me," He croaked. "When I was just five they gave me to a band of gypsies in a traveling fair. They called me The Devil's Child, and my monstrous face made them money."

His voice turned bitter and the tears disappeared as anger flamed to life in his eyes. In that instant, the door that had opened between them slammed shut once again.


	7. A Place To Hide

**A Place To Hide**

That evening, Erik sat in the shadow of the portico at the back of the house. He was completely comfortable in the familiar surroundings under cover of darkness. The cool spring breeze stirred his sparse hair and caressed his face refreshingly, so unlike the dank air of the opera cellars.

Moonlight cast eerie highlights against deep shadows in the yard and he looked up at the night sky, amazed by its vastness. The stars reminded him of diamonds scattered across dark velvet.

He heard the door behind him open and then close again, followed by the rustle of fabric. He knew it was Kathleen, but did not turn around, letting her approach him instead.

"Here you are, Erik! I saw your door open and came to see if you needed anything."

"Did you think I had escaped?" He asked dryly.

"You are free to go anytime," She said, leaning against a white pillar that supported the portico roof.

Erik did not answer, and after a few minutes of silence, Kathleen said, "It's beautiful, isn't it, the magic that moonlight makes on the landscape?

"Hmmm," Erik acknowledged, and then said, "I'm sorry I displaced you from your room, Kathleen. Was there not another room you could have given me? Priscilla said something about you being in with the big girls or something." He turned to look at her, though he only saw the shadow of her form and a white oval where her face was. "These children surely are not all yours?" He said with doubt in his voice.

Kathleen laughed softly, "I guess I have never explained to you, have I? I am the headmistress of an orphan home. We have always been preoccupied with other things, it seems. I always tried to keep the children quiet upstairs while you were ill. So you probably didn't hear much from them, which I suppose says much for our discipline."

Erik laughed in spite of himself. "How fitting that I should end up at an orphanage! I don't think though, Madame, that I am yet young enough to be adopted!"

_That and your face_, Kathleen couldn't help thinking. "Erik, you don't need to be in a hurry to leave. Take your time healing, rest up, and then decide what you want to do."

He didn't tell her that he had no idea how to start a new life, or any expectations of normalcy in that life. He was inclined to be silent after that, so Kathleen left him to his thoughts and retired for the night.

Kathleen sensed that Erik was getting restless now that he was nearly healed, and his strength had almost returned to normal. It had been three weeks since his arrival.

* * *

One Sunday evening she approached him with a solution to his problem. He was engrossed in a copy of James Fennimore Cooper's "Last of the Mohicans" and wanted to ask her some questions about the Indians and if there were any in the city.

But she seemed quite excited about something and determined to drag him out of the house, but she infuriatingly kept him in the dark about where she wanted to take him. "Come! I have something to show you!"

"Kathleen," He said, holding back, "I cannot go out of this room with my face exposed! I will scare the children."

"We will use the servant's stairs out the back. The children are preparing for dinner and will not see us."

She tugged at his hand and he followed reluctantly past the silent fountain and gardens. She led him across the green expanse of lush lawn and beneath leafing old trees, almost to the fence at the back of the property. Back in the far corner, a roof top peeked up over mammoth lilac bushes that were beginning to open their soft lavender buds.

"I'd forgotten about the gardener's cottage, you see," She said, walking backward, still leading him by the hand, a sunny smile across her face. "It would be perfect for you—until you go." Her eyes seemed to beg him to agree, and something more peeked out as well, but then vanished.

He stopped her and kept her at arm's length. "Kathleen, how can I stay here? I would be a burden you don't need."

"But you are not fully recovered yet," She insisted. "And surely we can find something for you to do around here until you find something else." She was fishing for excuses and they both knew it. Erik intrigued her and she simply wasn't ready for him to move on yet.

They had stopped at the door of a small white cottage that needed paint and a few other repairs, by the look of its sagging shutters and window boxes and the unkempt state of the yard. Dead leaves from the autumn before clogged the small garden plots under the windows and were heaped in a soggy pile before the front door.

Hope began to rise within Erik. There was no reason he could not at least look at the place. The door stuck when Kathleen opened it, the wood swollen from the damp weather.

"We stored things from the house in here," She explained the cloth-covered mounds around the small rooms. "You could use anything you need here to make the house livable."

He was beginning to pick up on her enthusiasm. Why couldn't he hide here? He could teach music to the children for a small salary and live comfortably out of the world's viewing.

"This is the largest room here." Kathleen indicated the front room where they stood. "A small kitchen and bedroom are in the back. Quite cozy for one person."

Erik maneuvered around the covered furniture and odds and ends from the mansion. He poked his head through the door and looked over the back rooms.

_Perfect_, he thought. _I can have peace, quiet, and solitude!_ The trees around the cottage made a secret bower around the little house.

"It will do nicely, Kathleen! With a little work it will soon be livable. In comparison to the other places I have lived, this will be quite splendid!"

"Good!" She said with a radiant smile. "I'm sure Zeke will be glad to help you fix it up in his spare time." She could hardly believe he was taking her up on this wild idea.

"There is no need, Kathleen. I'll provide a list of materials I shall need and I can do the work. It will be a relief to be busy again."

Kathleen cocked a dark eyebrow, which Erik did not see, for he was already checking the structure over for needed repairs. She wanted to laugh in disbelief! This man, with the exception of his disfigurement, appeared in every way to be from the upper class. His speech, clothing, and demeanor said that he hadn't been with the gypsies all his life. What could he possibly know about working with his hands?

* * *

The next morning, Erik was gone from his room when Kathleen brought his breakfast. She smiled to herself, knowing that he was already wrapped up in making the little house livable.

She found him looking over and sorting the furniture from the mansion. Some he had put outside. Her tripped a beat when she saw him from the left side. His black wig was in place, his slim body clad in a crisp white shirt, and trim brown trousers tucked into tall black boots.

"Ah, Kathleen," He said with a ghost of a smile curving his lips upward. He pulled a piece of paper from his trousers pocket. "Here is the list of supplies I shall need to fix the cottage."

"I will go get them this morning," She said, reading the neat script.

"And I shall need to make a new mask," He added. "I can't teach music to the children if they are horrified by my face." This time a smile reached his emerald eyes.

"Music!" Kathleen gasped, her own silvery-blue eyes alight with surprise. "You can teach music?"

"I would not say it, if it were not so, Madame. There are many things I am good at, as you will see."

He was not bragging on himself, Kathleen saw, for he was very businesslike about it.

"For a reasonable salary, I can live here quite comfortably." He looked to her for agreement. "If that suits you, Madame."

Kathleen floundered for a moment, so taken aback was she by his declaration of his intention to stay indefinitely. "Uh—yes—yes!" She smiled radiantly. "That would be wonderful, Erik! I have often thought of adding music to the children's lessons."

She came closer and looked at his face. His green eyes watched her intently, almost guardedly. She said, "I think if we make your mask flesh colored it would hardly be noticeable from a distance, and the children would soon get used to it."

She took his hand again. "Come, you must eat a hearty breakfast to keep up your strength. You have a lot to do, and I have just the right things to make your mask with right after you eat."

* * *

Kathleen provided Erik with flour, water, cloth, and newspaper to make his mask with. The construction of it was a very private thing, and he did it alone. When it was dry, he painted and tinted it to match his skin tone.

When he showed it to Kathleen, she nodded her approval. "You do know, though, Erik, that you will have to darken it after all your time in the sun."

* * *

All the hammering and activity around the cottage drew the children like bees to flowers. At recess, the young ones could be found peeking around the lilac bushes, and the older boys were even so bold as to hang on the window sills and peek in.

Erik felt like a new attraction at a zoo. He would mutter and curse in French and shoo them away. And after several days of this, he was rather short-tempered.

Thursday, after classes, Kathleen came on one of her inspection tours. She was amazed by how good Erik was with his hands. He had repaired the loose shutters and flower boxes, and patched the roof, and was now constructing a small porch on the back of the cottage. When the repairs were complete, he would whitewash the outside with fresh, new paint.

As she approached the back of the cottage, she heard Erik growl a curse in French and saw him put his thumb in his mouth.

She scolded him in rusty, but understandable French. He dropped the hammer, clearly startled and frowned fiercely at her.

"Don't sneak up on me, Kathleen," He snapped in grumpy English.

"And you shouldn't curse, even in French, Erik! Some of the children are learning French," Kathleen returned tartly. She handed him a jar of water. "Here cool off," She teased, all former irritation gone.

She looked his work over, admiring the precise workmanship in the straight timbers he had cut. The smell of fresh-cut wood tickled the senses pleasantly.

Erik looked around behind Kathleen. "You don't have any of the little spies with you, do you?" He asked sourly, his one eyebrow low over his eye. "Kathleen, you must keep them away from here! It's maddening! Every time I turn around, the little beasts are peeking in the windows or popping out of the bushes giggling!"

He put his broad hands on his hips and strode toward her, his jaw set. "Then they make sounds like ghosts or spirits or some other horrible thing!"

He stopped pacing and sat down on a sawhorse, his chin resting on his fist, scowling fiercely. Kathleen thought he looked like a petulant child. "This may not work after all," He muttered.

"Erik!" She laughed. "They are just children! All the hammering made them curious to see what was going on out here!"

"Just keep them out of my way!" He snapped grouchily.

Realization suddenly dawned on Kathleen, and never one to walk away from a problem, she forged ahead. "I understand what this is all about!"

She walked over to him and fixed serious icy-blue eyes on his green ones. "You intend to use the orphanage as a place to hide from the world! Oh, you will teach music to the children because you must make a living, but the rest of the time you want to hide away in your self-imposed prison! Yes, you have a disfigured face!" She threw up her hands. "Well, Erik, there are several thousand other men out in the world who are also disfigured in body and mind! The war-"

Erik bolted his feet and grabbed her upper arms in an iron grip, his face crimson, eyes glittering like hard green glass. "You dare to tell me how to live? You don't know my past or the things I have done!" His forehead nearly touched hers, his hot breath blasted her face. His blazing eyes frightened her—there seemed to be a hint of madness in them. "I hide form the world because it's the only life I know! The life I was driven to!" He screamed, then thrust her away from him and turned his back to her, his shoulders sagging dejectedly.

Kathleen thought he was finished, but he continued gruffly, "I hid from the world in a pit underground because of my sins and this cursed face." He turned back toward her and approached like a stalking cat, tears gleaming in his eyes. "I wear the mask so that even I don't have to look at myself." Shame covered the unmasked part of his face. "I used my face to scare people, to threaten and use them. I'm a fool to think I can get away from the curse of this face, and a fool to think these children will accept me."

He shook his head. "No, Kathleen, I should go." He turned away from her again, the saddest-looking individual Kathleen had seen in a long time.

She walked up behind him and touched his back. "You have to stop running, Erik. I have a feeling you have been running most of your life. Give me a chance! Give yourself a chance! I watched you scream at God to take your life and scream at Him again when He didn't. Perhaps He has something He wants you to do here. If you must have a cause to justify your existence, Erik, there is no better one than these children."

She drew her hand away, ready to part, but left him with one final thought. "Perhaps you can live part of your missed childhood through these children, and Erik, I think you would find that children have the biggest, most accepting hearts in the world."

Erik felt exhausted after she left and wandered out into the small plot of grass behind the cottage and dropped onto the lush green carpet. Overhead, a patch of blue sky and wispy clouds showed through the nearly-bare tree limbs. Never in all of his thirty years had he looked at cloud shapes before, but he did now as he let his mind wander. He needed to think about what he should do, but he pushed the troublesome thoughts away and just imagined.


	8. Into The Light

Notes: A special thank you to Moonjava, Cherie, Forensic Photographer711, Mominator 124, and jessie-ashley for your great reviews! You all are sweet. Thanks too to tink8812 for all the info. on Pres. Grant. I have been doing extensive research on this time period and re-reading Grant's autobiography. Research is hampered because I don't have internet at my house. I go to Phangirl's house and hijack her computer instead! (Luv ya for that, Sis!) And yes, Erik will be heading south later on and will get to see the ugly side of Reconstruction. Lots more research going on for that part, so the writing doesn't get done as quickly. But stay tuned, we will get there!

* * *

**Into The Light**

Erik opened his eyes to see the darkening blue of that patch of sky. He had fallen asleep and evening was coming on. He felt a presence nearby and turned to his head to see the little angel girl. She sat in a puff of red and white skits on the grass, her wide blue eyes patiently watching him.. She had her lower lip tucked between her tiny white teeth, and a question on her face, but she remained silent.

He knew the mask intrigued her, but why she did not question him about it was puzzling.

"You gonna come eat thupper, Mithter Erik?"

Surprised that she knew his name, Erik pushed up into a sitting position. "How do you know my name, Child?"

"I heard Mith Katie call you that name." She frowned fiercely at him. "You thouldn't a yelled at Mith Katie. Thee theth we thouldn't fight and yell at each other."

Feeling properly chastened, Erik asked her how he knew of his disagreement with Miss Katie.

Her face fell guiltily. "I followed Mith Katie and hid in the butheth."

Erik felt as if he should reprimand her, but instead had to fight the laughter that bubbled in his throat. It would not do to let her think it was amusing to spy on people.

"Did Miss Katie send you out here to see if I wanted to eat?"

"No," She said quietly, looking down at her fingers as she creased her skirt. "I juth thoughted you might want to eat with uth." She looked at him with large imploring eyes. "Ain't you lonely, Mithter Erik?"

A smile tickled at his lips, while unfamiliar emotions tugged at his heart. "Yes, I am Cherie," He whispered, tracing a finger along the curve of her silky jaw.

She jumped to her feet, tugging mightily at his arm as she went. "Come on then! We gotta tell Mith Maloney to get another plate for you!"

All his defenses clawed at him to stay in the little house. He didn't feel ready to go into this new life just yet, but he argued with himself that he had to go or he might never get his courage up again. He had said he would teach the children, and he would have to meet them sometime soon.

* * *

Mrs. Maloney was quite thrown by his unusual appearance, but his courtly bow and genteel manners soon had the good woman charmed.

When the man and girl reached the dining room door, the children were noisily passing platters and bowls around the long table. Kathleen stopped in the middle of pouring milk into glasses on the table, her mouth shaped in a small O of surprise. The children suddenly stopped as if frozen by a winter blast, all eyes focused on Erik's face.

Kathleen put the pitcher down, and seeing Erik's discomfort, told the children to continue passing the food around the table. She had told them of their new teacher and his unusual face, and warned them not to stare, but curiosity had gained the upper hand. They did manage to pass the food without serious incident though.

Kathleen sat Erik down at one end of the table while she took the other. Mrs. Maloney bustled in with a plate for Erik, and he proceeded to fill it, though he didn't know if a bite could pass the tight knot in his throat. Young eyes repeatedly darted from their plates to his face until Kathleen sternly insisted that the children eat.

The only sound in the elegant room after that was the scrape and clatter of silver on china. Kathleen couldn't help but let her own gaze move often to Erik. His face seemed to have a ruddy cast, despite his darkening skin tone. Kathleen tried to ease the tension by introducing each of the children by name.

When the children finished their meal, Kathleen sent some of them to work on unfinished lessons and some to their duties, clearing the table and cleaning up the kitchen.

Erik and Kathleen lingered at the table over cups of coffee. Erik was relieved that the eyes of the children were at last off of him.

"They respond marvelously to your instructions when you are around," Erik commented dryly. The quirk of his eyebrow told Kathleen that he was teasing.

"Yes, they respond quite well most of the time." Kathleen smiled and set her coffee cup down.

Pricilla came and stood at Erik's elbow, and seeing that his cup was empty solemnly removed it from the table and made off for the kitchen.

"You've made a conquest, Erik," Kathleen chuckled. "Since Pricilla found you in my room she has been quite taken with you."

Erik watched the blonde girl remove Kathleen's cup and saucer to the kitchen before answering, "I asked the little miss if you had sent for me to come to dinner. She replied that you hadn't." A smile actually reached his eyes, even though his lips only hinted at amusement. "She followed you and hid in the bushes. She heard our disagreement and quite fiercely reprimanded me for yelling and fighting with you."

"That's our Pricilla," Kathleen said with an unladylike snort. She then covered her mouth as a fit of giggles overtook her. Her silver-blue eyes glistened merrily in the candle-light. Her mature attributes and the joy of her laughter sent a shiver of attraction through Erik. He tamped the sudden feeling down by changing the subject. He had come to think of woman in any form as dangerous territory. After all, he had fallen into Christine's trap when she was still but a child.

"How did you come to have such a house as this for your orphanage?"

"Come, I'll give you a tour." She rose from her chair. He followed her to the parlor where a portrait of a distinguished gentleman and an attractive young woman hung over the mantle. Erik also noticed a fine piano in the room, just waiting for him.

"This is Mr. Samuel Price and his wife, Amelia," Kathleen said, drawing his attention back to the portrait. "Amelia died in childbirth when their only son Sam, Jr. was born. Mr. Price and his son lived here until Sam Jr. went of to fight in the Union Army in 1861. He was killed in 1863 at a place called Gettysburg in Pennsylvania, leaving Mr. Price with no other family. He died in 1867."

She indicated a sepia-toned daguerreotype on the mantle below the portrait of the Prices. It showed a handsome, confident young man in a military uniform. "This is Sam Jr. before he went off to fight."

A saber lay in front of the picture, and Erik took a keen interest in it, for he had a liking for fine blades, and this one appeared to be custom made, judging by the intricate etching on the scabbard. He had an insatiable urge to test the heft and balance of the blade.

"This war young Price fought in…" He frowned trying to think of what country America could have been at war with just a few short years ago, but found his knowledge of the world terribly lacking. "What country was America at war with?"

Kathleen's dark brows rose in astonishment. Where had this man been to be so out of touch? She was sure France, or most any country in Europe surely would have mentioned America's war in its newspapers.

"America was at war with itself," She sighed. "Several states no longer wished to be a part of the Union and seceded. The Northern states went to war with these seceded Southern states to bring them back into the Union."

"How intriguing," Erik said, picking up the saber.

"How terrible is more the truth," Kathleen said sadly, running a finger over young Price's picture. "That war set fathers against sons, brothers against brothers, and friends against friends. I wonder if this nation will ever heal from it." She turned away from the picture, but Erik looked at the handsome face in the frame once more and wondered if Kathleen had loved the man.

But she was already moving on with the tour. She showed him the library and its hundreds of handsomely-bound books. He would enjoy reading from those volumes since he was so far behind in his learning of the world, as his questions to Kathleen attested. If he was going to live in a new country, he needed to learn more about its history.

The tour concluded in the ballroom, which Kathleen explained was now used as the schoolroom for the children. The elegance of the walls and ceiling of the room reminded Erik of the gilded opulence of the Opera Populaire.

"A beautiful room for learning," Erik said. "The large windows let in much light."

Kathleen smiled, turning in a graceful circle. "I used to peek in those windows when I was just a girl, when Mr. Price would host a ball." She closed her eyes, remembering. "The handsome gentlemen whirling the pretty ladies around the floor in their lovely gowns, their jewels sparkling in the candlelight…the beautiful music…" She turned again, her arms extended around an invisible partner as she waltzed. "I could hardly stand still."

As Erik watched her dance, he saw again the painful image of Raoul and Christine dancing at the bal masque, but he pushed it aside, saying, "You lived here as a child?"

Kathleen stopped suddenly and tidied an already neat student's desk, her cheeks bright pink. "My mother worked for Mr. Price," She said. "He saw to it that I was educated by the same tutor Sam Jr. had."

Erik followed as she walked toward the wide double doors that led back to the hall. "In his will, Mr. Price stipulated that I run the orphanage if I was willing."

"And you were," Erik stated with growing admiration.

"And I enjoy the challenge," Kathleen said, extinguishing the gas lights before closing the doors behind them.

Erik couldn't help but wonder if she would add a husband and children of her own to the challenge, or if she would devote her life just to the orphans.

"I am fortunate to have two fine young women to help with the children in the dorm rooms," Kathleen sighed. "Miss Fitch has been staying with her mother who has been very ill for the past few weeks, and I've missed her immensely."

"So, you have been carrying her responsibilities as well as taking care of me?" Erik asked.

"Yes." Kathleen smiled ruefully. "But the children help out very well, and bless Mrs. Maloney, she is a wonderful help."

Erik took in the fine furnishings of the rooms as they made their way to the kitchen. The way the house was kept in such good order with eighteen active children there was a feat in itself. He also noticed the rooms weren't overly cluttered with needless fripperies. Kathleen was indeed a very capable headmistress.

Before leaving the house, Erik stopped in the doorway. His eyes and expression were serious when he spoke. "Thank you, Kathleen, for giving me this opportunity. No one has cared enough before to do such a thing." He gave a slight bow and left the house.

Kathleen watched him go, her thoughts going with him. _You have come too far not to give you a chance, Erik. But Kathleen Maureen Flannery, you have only known this man for a few short weeks…not long enough to be mooning over him. And don't be letting him see it! He's still in love with someone else._

As she climbed the stairs, Kathleen stiffened her spine and her resolve. Erik clearly was not for her.

* * *

_Glorious music played as handsome men in black evening dress waltzed laughing ladies in satin gowns and glittering gemstones across the ballroom floor. _

_Erik's partner had her head turned, taking in the happy couples around them as they danced close together. She turned back to him, brown eyes sparkling, rose red lips smiling radiantly, telling him that she was glad to be in his arms. It was Christine in her rose pink gown!_

_As they turned by a gilded mirror, red flashed back at him—his Red Death costume. Christine suddenly staggered, and Erik realized that his trailing cape had twined around her feet and legs. She began to struggle, but the more they danced, the more entangled she became. _

_A voice rose over the music—Raoul calling to Christine, begging her to return to him. _

_Glass tinkled loudly above them and all eyes turned upward. A mammoth crystal chandelier swayed and began a violent descent toward the crowded dance floor. People screamed in panic. Christine stumbled from Erik's grasp. The chandelier landed with a roar, burying her under hot glittering glass. _

"_Christine! Christine!" Raoul cried over and over…_

Erik jerked upright in bed. "Christine!" He yelled, his breath coming in short tortured gasps. With shaking hands, he scraped back his thin, damp hair from his equally damp face. Sweat stuck his nightshirt to his body.

He bolted from bed, his stomach reeling, and stumbled out the back door of the cottage onto the tiny porch. He leaned over the railing in case he had to vomit, and pulled in deep breaths of cool night air until his stomach and his racing heart settled down.

"Why can't I forget her?" He grated through clenched teeth. "She belongs to that damned fop Raoul now, out of my reach, and out of my life forever!"

Erik glared up at the night sky. A few timid stars winked hazily back at him. "Is this more of Your punishment?" He rasped brokenly to whoever would listen up there. "I gave her up! I am trying to make up for my sins, since You haven't seen fit to kill me!"

He dropped wearily to the porch step, hands around the back of his neck, forehead on his knees, and gave in to frustrated tears.


	9. A Friend Revisited

A Friend Revisited

Erik closed his eyes as warm sensation flooded his body. It had been several months since the satiny feeling of ivory had been beneath his fingertips, and the music wrapped around him now like welcoming arms.

He had told Kathleen he would begin music lessons the next Monday, but for now he was reacquainting himself with the one true friend he felt he still had, music…glorious music. He could bend it to his will and mood. Pieces of music flooded his mind and his fingers itched to write down the scores, but for now, he played other composer's pieces to revive his passion.

A knock on the parlor door turned him from the keyboard. "Come in," He rumbled in reply.

Kathleen came in and quietly closed the door.

"Are they all tucked in for the night?" He asked.

Kathleen dropped into a plush chair with a tired sigh and closed her eyes. "Yes, at last. Priscilla wanted to come and say goodnight again!" She opened her eyes again, laughing, "I think she is smitten, Mithter Erik!"

He chuckled, "She is a little moppet. I catch her staring at me often."

Kathleen enjoyed hearing his laughter, and firmly believed that he was learning to laugh again after a long spell of hellish events in his life.

"Would you play something for me, please?" She asked, closing her eyes again and sinking back into the chair.

"What does Mademoiselle wish to hear?" He asked, exaggerating his French accent as he shuffled through the sheet music on the piano's flat top.

"A piece Sam Jr. used to play that I quite enjoy. _Fur-Elise_."

_Hmm, young Mr. Price again_, Erik thought, but carried on with his playful charade. "Ah, the lady prefers Beethoven!" He said, pulling out the requested sheet music.

The cozy room filled with haunting music and Kathleen soaked it up. Sam Jr. had played for pleasure, and to please his father, who had made Sam learn because his mother had played. But coming from Erik's skilled hands, the music sounded entirely different. He was a true master.

_Such beauty and such torment can come from this one man's soul_, Kathleen marveled as she listened.

For his next selection, Erik played _Moonlight Sonata_. When there was no response from his audience, he stopped and turned around to see that Kathleen was sound asleep in the overstuffed chair.

He wavered back and forth between waking her and carrying her up to her room. A vision of carrying Christine to his bed made the decision for him.

"Kathleen," He said gruffly, gently shaking her shoulder. "You will get a stiff neck if you sleep in that chair all night."

She moaned and blinked her pale silver-blue eyes. "You stopped playing," She protested.

"My audience was snoring, so I thought I must have bored her indeed," He teased dryly.

"I do not snore!" She exclaimed sleepily, her Irish lilt more pronounced.

Erik took her hands and eased her from the chair. "Go to bed, woman. You are exhausted. I hope that girl gets back soon before you work yourself to death," He said sternly.

"You must keep the door open at night," She said around a jaw-popping yawn. "The children will settle down much faster."

"How am I to take that?" Erik muttered.

Kathleen seemed hesitant to leave the room, though Erik saw that she was ready to drop. She gazed at him with a strange new look in her eyes.

"Goodnight," She whispered and trudged from the room.

He pondered that strange look as he made the short walk to his cottage. He certainly had not seen it before. But he shook his own tired brain, telling himself it was nothing more than the lighting in the room.

* * *

Sunday evening, Kathleen approached Erik with a small dilemma. She found him in his now-customary place at the piano in the parlor.

She put her hand on the top of the piano and said, "Erik, you have never told me your last name. As a teacher, the children must call you by your last name as a sign of respect. They can't keep calling you Mr. Erik."

He had stopped playing when she first spoke, and now he looked down at the keys, a troubled expression on the unmasked side of his face. Several moments passed before he finally looked up at her, clearly at a loss. "I've never needed a last name before," He told her. "But I see that you are right."

He closed the lid over the keys and distractedly arranged the sheet music on the piano rack. "I never knew, or else don't remember my parent's name." Hot anger boiled up in him just at the mere thought of the couple who had thrown him away into such a brutal life. He didn't want to acknowledge them by using their name even if he did remember it. "I will have a name by lesson time tomorrow," He said gravely, and wished her a good evening before leaving the mansion for home.

The small back porch of Erik's cottage was becoming another favorite place to relax at the end of the evening. The sigh of the wind through the new leaves was soothing, and the cool air refreshing, synonymous with _freedom _in his mind. No more hiding in dank, dark tunnels and caverns. He had found a small piece of the world that seemed willing to accept him.

"Here I am not a pariah," he said aloud. "Oh, Christine! How I thought you understood this outcast. You seemed to hear me as no one else could."

He ran a trembling hand through his thin hair. "But you exposed me to the world," He whispered into the black night, "and gave me my name."

With a little modification he came up with his new name: Erik de Parria, from the French word "paria" meaning outcast.

* * *

As it turned out, Monday was turned upside down. Mid-morning, an acquaintance of Kathleen's, a Reverend Harrison Wilkes, brought a couple to meet the orphans, with the intention of adopting one, if not two, of the children.

The youngsters were lined up in the school room and the prospective parents, a Mr. and Mrs. Logan, were able to look each one over and talk to them. Several caught the couple's interest and each child was taken aside and asked questions. Eight year old Milly Quinlan, auburn-hair and green eyes promising beauty, caught their eye. But her twin sister Molly protested that they must not be parted. The girls were not identical, so the fact that they _were_ twins was easy to miss.

Mr. Logan had his eye on one of the older boys, twelve year old James, to help run the farm back in Ohio, he said.

Erik stood at the door, quietly observing the heart-rending scene. The twin girls were wrapped in each other's arms, crying inconsolably.

Surely, they will not separate them, he thought. But after a few more moments he could bear to watch no longer. He needed to escape to the solitude of his house for a while until the selection was over.

"It's as if they're selecting livestock," He muttered distastefully.

At the noon meal, Erik noticed two empty chairs at the long table, however the twins were still present. After the meal, he went to the parlor to prepare for his first music lesson. Kathleen came and found him after the children had been sent outside to play.

"Erik, is anything wrong?" she asked, closing the door behind her.

He rose from the piano bench and stepped to the fireplace, resting his arm on the mantle. His eyes did not meet hers, and he seemed distracted as he looked at the fine saber on the mantelpiece.

"How do you do it, Kathleen?" He finally asked, his green eyes troubled. "How do you watch those children go through what Milly and Molly did? It was like watching someone select a horse or cow!"

"Erik, it is not always like that." She stood before him, hoping to soothe his anger. "They did not realize that the girls were sisters, let alone twins."

"Would you have let them be separated?" He asked defensively, leaning closer to her face.

Taken aback by his fierce attitude, Kathleen stumbled over her reply. "No—no, I try not to break up siblings, and I—I'm glad to say that I haven't had to yet, but sometimes it is necessary for the child to find a home."

"They have a home here!"

"Erik," she sighed, "This cannot be a permanent home. This is only a stop over until a family can be found for them. They need parents, a chance at a normal life."

He muttered an expletive in French and returned to the piano, staring moodily at the sheet music. Kathleen came to stand behind him, longing to touch him, but felt she had no right to.

She spoke gently. "I don't find it easy to let them go, but I have to. It is better that they go than face the alternative, life on the streets, starvation, and for the girls, much worse."

"Yes, I know you are right," He said reluctantly, thinking of his own tortured, dark childhood. "I hope they fare well."

"I pray for that too, for every one of them."

Having no experience with prayer and feeling that his relationship with God was tenuous at best, Erik hoped Kathleen's prayers held some sway.

"Who is to go?" He asked.

"The Logans took James and Dorcas out for a while to get better acquainted," Kathleen said, sitting down beside him on the piano bench. She looked over at his handsome profile, admiring the strength of it, and the concern for the children she saw there. "It will get easier, Erik."

She covered his broad hand with her slender one and squeezed. The sensation that raced through her veins was unexpected…breathtaking, but she left her hand there, sensing his need for her comfort. "You don't have to be here at those times if you don't want to be. I understand your aversion to the process."

Erik sighed, welcoming the comforting closeness of her presence. What he didn't tell her was that seeing "the process" had brought back those hideous days of being on display in that filthy cage being jeered at and beaten like some wild animal. He fervently hoped that none of these children were ever subjected to any form of cruelty.


	10. A Dark Fate

**A Dark Fate**

That evening, Zeke came for a visit. Kathleen welcomed him gladly, for it had been a while since he had stayed for an extended time. A bad cold had kept the old gentleman close to home across town.

"He's still here, I see," Zeke said as he and Kathleen approached the supper table.

"He's a teacher here now," She whispered just before they sat down. She saw Zeke's raised eyebrows, but had no other way of knowing what thoughts churned in his head. Thoughts of the matchmaking kind, most likely.

Indeed these were Zeke's thoughts as he sat at the table exchanging small talk with Kathleen. He tried to engage Erik in conversation, but was unsuccessful. But he wouldn't let the lad's shyness deter him. First he would get to know the young man better and see if he was a suitable match for Kathleen. His looks were a bit strange, but the heart revealed the true nature of the person, not the face, he knew.

* * *

While Kathleen oversaw the evening routines of the children, Erik was at the piano. Zeke had followed him and again tried making small talk.

Erik made himself be kind, for though the old man's chattering irritated him a bit, he was Kathleen's friend, and had saved his life.

"Kathleen says you are a teacher here," Zeke said. "What do you teach?"

Erik thought that should be obvious, but answered respectfully, "I have begun giving piano lessons to the children who wish to learn." He then put a special effort into the piece he was playing, just to show off a bit.

"Aye, I can see that you would be good at that." Zeke sat down in a chair not far from the piano and watched as Erik continued to play.

Erik felt uncomfortable having the older man staring at him, so he closed his eyes and lost himself in the rhythm of the music.

Zeke thought the younger man handsome enough, despite the strange mask. He had seen just a bit of Erik's damaged face the night he brought him here, when Kathleen had doctored him. Would he stay long? Zeke wondered. Kathleen needed a good, strong man. This one seemed a bit moody, but Zeke was convinced Katie could sweeten him up.

Erik shook himself out of his self-imposed trance. What was that damned annoying buzzing? He looked around for an unwelcome fly or bee. Then he saw Zeke slumped over to one side in the chair, snoring loudly. Unable to control a mean little impulse, Erik slammed the lid down over the keys. The sharp bang startled Zeke awake.

"What—what's happenin' General? Them Johnny Rebs firin' on us again?"

Erik had no idea what a Johnny Reb was, and innocently shuffled his sheet music and put it away, swallowing his laughter with difficulty. "Bad dream, Sir," He said.

Zeke rubbed his hands over his tired face, mumbling something about them Johnny Rebs trying to flank them, and rose stiffly from his chair.

"To old to be stayin' out so late, lad," He said, shuffling to the parlor door. "Got to be up at the crack of dawn, you know."

Erik saw him out the kitchen door and called out a "good night" to him. On his way back to the parlor, he looked at the tall grandfather clock in the hall and wondered what was keeping Kathleen this evening. It was 8:00 and the children should all be in bed by now. He frowned, deciding to go see if there was a problem upstairs.

The appearance of Kathleen coming from the foyer stopped him cold. She had a small bundle in her arms.

"Look, Erik," she said softly, a dreamy look on her face.

Erik crossed the space that separated them in a few easy strides and looked down at the bundle of blankets in Kathleen's arms. He saw a tiny pink face with a few wisps of black hair across the baby's high forehead. A miniature rosebud mouth made sucking motions as the infant slept.

"Where's the mother?" He asked, looking behind Kathleen, though he already knew. Cold anger grew in his gut. Why did mothers think it fit to abandon perfectly beautiful children?

Kathleen carried the baby into the parlor. "There's a note in her blankets," She said, laying her gently on the settee. She sat down beside her and pulled a rumpled sheet of paper from the folds of the baby's blanket.

"The baby's name is Josie," She read aloud. "Since her mother's death, I can't take care of her and work too. She needs people who can give her what I can't." Kathleen looked up at Erik when she finished reading it to him. "There is no name of course."

Erik's face had lost its thundercloud appearance, but he still looked displeased. "Why didn't the man give the child to a family member?"

"Perhaps he had no family, or they couldn't take on another child. It does no good to ask why, we just have to take care of her now."

Erik watched as Kathleen unwrapped the baby and was amazed by the perfection of her tiny hands and feet.

"There is a box by the front door with her things in it, Erik. Will you bring it in here please? This little lass needs a fresh nappy."

Erik wondered what in the world a nappy was as he went to get Josie's belongings. Soon enough, he found out a nappy was a soggy, smelly thing. He backed off a space, but still watched, intrigued as Kathleen changed the baby's clothes. When the tiny thing started to wail it put his nerves on edge. He wanted to escape the horrid noise, but was unable to pull himself away from the spectacle.

That chore done, he followed Kathleen to the kitchen where, horror of horrors! She handed the screaming infant off to him! "Um, Kathleen, I-uh shouldn't—Oh, Dear! Hold still!" He stammered as the thing nearly slid from his arms.

Suddenly the thing stopped wailing and Kathleen turned abruptly from the kitchen stove where she was warming a bottle of milk. Erik too stared down at the baby, wondering if she had suddenly fallen asleep again. But she was wide-eyed, gazing up at him, a happy smile lighting her face. Erik was completely dumbstruck by this tiny person and couldn't help but smile back.

He looked at Kathleen in wonder and finally was able to say in a hushed voice, "I don't scare her!"

"It seems you have a gift with babies, Erik!" She said, smiling a huge smile, and thinking this was the best thing that could ever happen to him.

But suddenly the quiet was shattered once again by angry cries.

"What did I do?" Erik panicked and held the red, screaming infant at arm's length, as if terrified she would bite him.

Kathleen quickly finished preparing the bottle that had come with Josie's things and expertly propped her in her arms and started her feeding. Blessed quiet again descended on the kitchen. "You didn't do anything wrong," She assured him. "See, she was just hungry."

She felt sorry for the harried man. What an introduction to baby care he had just been given!

"Can you manage?" He asked, clearly ready to bolt for home.

"Yes," She said absently.

As he slinked toward the back door, he saw that she was already enamored with the baby and was talking silly talk and cooing as she coddled her. He closed the door behind him with a sigh and began the walk toward home, concluding that babies were both amazing and nerve-wracking. He was also glad that Kathleen was enjoying the job of taking care of the demanding little creature, and was quite adept at it without his help.

* * *

Erik noticed Kathleen looked quite the worse for wear at breakfast the next morning. She nearly nodded off in her plate several times. Baby Josie was sleeping soundly in a wooden bed that looked for all the world like a wooden crate, oblivious to the ooh's and ahh's of the children as they came in for breakfast and stopped to peek at the baby.

"Is that woman back yet?" Erik asked after breakfast, referring to Kathleen's missing assistant.

She covered a yawn before answering. "No, and she won't be back. I received a letter from her yesterday."

"Damnation!" He growled. "You can't keep up with a baby and your other duties too! You look dead on your feet already, and the day's just begun! You need more help here!"

"Thank you for your kind observation, Sir!" Kathleen said in a wobbly voice, tears glimmering in her eyes. She snatched the sleeping baby, startling the poor child into frightened crying. The last Erik saw of the pair, Kathleen was trying to hush the baby while tears washed down her own pale cheeks.

With a puzzled look on his face, Erik asked himself just what he had done to cause such a display. "Women truly confound me!" He muttered, heading toward the parlor. At least he and music understood each other.

* * *

Later that morning, Erik was working on his first piece of music since coming to America. While he was putting down notes on the page, the parlor door opened. He closed his eyes in annoyance for a moment, in no mood for more feminine waterworks. He pasted an agreeable expression on his face though and turned to the door, expecting to see Kathleen.

"Oh, excuse me!" An attractive young woman said, clearly taken aback by his masked face. She didn't look frightened exactly, just surprised by it. "I was looking for Kathleen."

"Clareesa!" Erik heard Kathleen exclaim from the hall.

The two hugged in the doorway with Josie tucked in between them.

"And who's this?" Clareesa asked, eyeing the baby girl with delight.

"This is our newest arrival Josie," Kathleen said, passing the baby into her friend's eager arms.

Erik rolled his eyes as much cooing and gushing ensued. He closed the piano lid with a huff of exasperation as his concentration and peace and quiet vanished. _I need to stop spending so much time in this house. Have a piano put in my house, perhaps._

"Excuse me ladies," He said, trying to leave the room so they could chatter to their hearts content.

But Kathleen wasn't about to let him off that easily. She led the lady into the parlor and said, "Clareesa, this is Mr. de Paria, our new music teacher since the second week of this month." She didn't tell of Erik's rather strange arrival a month earlier in April. "Erik, this is Clareesa Whitney. She has been abroad in Europe for the winter."

"Enchanted, Mademoiselle Whitney," Erik said, bowing courteously, hoping he could now escape.

"It's Mrs. Whitney," She said with a warm smile as she and Kathleen sat down. "Judging by your accent, Mr. de Parria, I would say that you are from France, am I correct?"

Erik's blood chilled a bit. "I was born in France, yes," was all he would say. _But it was never home_, he thought darkly.

"I found Paris charming," She continued, still smiling. "But it was a shame the beautiful opera house was recently burned. I was so looking forward to seeing a performance there. Just from looking at the ruins you could tell it had been a magnificent place."

Erik was finding the room excruciatingly warm. "Excuse me ladies, there is something I really must see too." He made a hasty retreat to the door, closing it all but the tiniest crack behind him. Then he stayed to listen.

The woman continued her tale of the opera house, laughing in disbelief about some ghost story of a strange phantom who was said to have lived in the bowels of the opera and started the fire in a jealous rage over a woman. She said the story was told rampantly on the streets. Erik could hear no more then and left the house in a silent, cold fury.

So, the fates had struck again in their cruel game of destiny! He would have to leave the orphanage just as he was starting to find a place for himself in the world, a place of peace.

He paced his small back porch like a powerful jungle cat in a cage. How long would it take for someone to make the connection between him and the opera fire? He was not safe even here in America, hundreds of miles from Paris.

"Perhaps I should just turn myself in!" He said bitterly. "Just let them hang me and get it over with!"

Boiling, seething rage pounded in his veins and he grasped the porch support and wrenched it with mighty force. Wood screeched and groaned as it splintered. He did the same to the next support and jumped out of the way just before the porch roof fell with a crash.

He fell to the grass, breathing harshly, bitter tears blinding his eyes. He held his head in a crushing grip with his powerful hands and hunched over in a miserable shaking ball of humanity.

"Why?" He cried out. "Why is peace always so out of reach?"


	11. Erik's Opera

AN: Thanks again for the reviews. Mbin, especially thanks. Phangirl says you are a very good friend, and I highly respect your opinion.

But not to leave anyone out, all of you are great!

* * *

**Erik's Opera**

Erik rolled his meager wardrobe into his ragged black cape and put on an old hat he had found while cleaning out the cottage, pulling it low over his brow. It would help hide his face from close inspection. His mask was in a sad condition due to his last bout of tears, but it would do for a while longer.

With a last melancholy look around the small cottage that had become his haven, he picked up his bundle and headed for the door. It was now almost fully dark and the friendly cover of night would again help him escape.

He had decided to head into the wild frontiers of the West. The stories of the Indians and cowboys he had read about in the boys' dime novels had intrigued him, and he decided it would be easy to get lost in a land of misfits and adventurers.

The house was completely dark when he opened the door. He started and swore when he nearly bowled Kathleen over on the door step. "Damn it, Kathleen! You nearly scared the life out of me!"

"I'm sorry," she laughed softly. "When you didn't come in for supper I was concerned. You seemed a bit out of sorts when you left Clareesa and me."

Suddenly she noticed his odd appearance and the bundle under his arm. "Erik? What are you doing? Are you leaving?"

"It's better this way," he said roughly, moving to go around her.

She planted herself in his path, her face set with stony determination. "What Clareesa said about you—about the opera house fire, that's what this is about! I know you well enough now to be able to read your face. You couldn't get out of that room fast enough."

"So now you know most of my secrets!" he hissed and stepped to the side of her. "I will save you the horror of the rest of them!"

She again moved into his path. "So you are going to run again!" she spat out. "I know you started that fire in Paris. You told quite a tale when you were ill and having nightmares, but all the pieces didn't come together until Clareesa's visit this afternoon."

Erik bore her tirade with shame. He wanted to run from her, but stood and took the reproach he deserved. Even if he did get around her, she would hound him until she had had her say.

"The woman Christine you spoke of—she was in the fire, wasn't she?"

"Yes," he whispered hoarsely.

"The story goes that you started the fire in a jealous rage over her."

"The stupid fools can't even tell the truth of it!" Erik laughed darkly. "The fire started when I dropped the chandelier in the opera house after that little witch exposed my hideous face to the world!" Rage shook his tall frame. "I used it as a distraction so we could escape, but she didn't want to go with me! She was just bait to trap me!"

"Trap you? Why?" Kathleen asked.

"My, you are determined to know it all, aren't you?" he said bitterly. Taking her arm, he opened the door to the dark interior of the cottage and pulled her inside. He struck a match and light flared as he lit a candle, illuminating the sitting room and casting eerie shadows on his face under the broad brim of the hat. He tossed the hat away and pinned her with his intense gaze.

"Take a seat, mon cheri! My opera is about to begin!"

She sat down on a delicate-looking chair with a floral pattern on the upholstery, but he remained standing, looking at her grimly, as if trying to frighten her. She did not frighten easily however, and stared back at him, her mouth set in a firm line.

"I went to the opera house years before Christine did," he began. "As a fugitive." He turned and looked at the darkened window as if watching his past play out before him in the glass.

"You remember I told you my parents had sold me to gypsies?" His voice held a sneer as he spoke of them. "Well, one night we were set up in Paris. I was perhaps twelve or so—I'm not sure. The gypsies ran a traveling fair, and I was one of their main attractions, kept in a tiny cage and not allowed to bathe. I was nothing but an animal to them."

Hate colored his voice as he remembered. "That night I could take the cruel laughter and jeers no longer. After my usual beating and unmasking before the crowd, the bastard that kept me was greedily counting the money I had made for him. I saw my chance and threw a rope around his filthy neck and twisted it until he stopped moving."

Kathleen gasped, but he didn't turn around or acknowledge it in any way. He could not stop talking now that he had started. It was as if a dam had burst inside him and he must ride out the tide.

"A group of young girls had stopped by my cage just before that, laughing like all the rest." His voice trembled with emotion. "All but one girl who was older than the rest. She didn't laugh. She just looked at me with pity and kindness. Perhaps that is what gave me the strength to move on him right then. I don't know."

He paused for a moment and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes clouded with the bitterness of the memories.

Kathleen waited for the story to continue, feeling all of the anger, pity, and horror of it. She wanted to stop him from telling any more, but felt compelled to listen, since this was the only way she could learn more about this dark, complex man.

"Immediately the gendarmes found the dead gypsy and the girl and I began to run. She took me to the opera house and hid me in its labyrinth of cellars. I grew to manhood there. It became my artistic domain…and my prison."

He began talking of the girl Christine then and his voice became softer, more tender. "Christine came to the opera when she was seven, right after her father's death made her an orphan. At first I paid little heed to her, but on my night rambles around the opera house, I began to hear her crying for her father. After several nights of this, I began to play the violin for her, to soothe her as her father had done. As she grew up, I discovered she had a talent for singing, so I began to teach her from the shadows. I suppose we filled a void in each other. To her I was the Angel of Music her father had promised would come to her."

Erik suddenly laughed coldly. "I took advantage of her childish notion and played upon it, but when I heard her sing on stage that first time in her glorious angelic voice, I knew I had to have her as my own. I had not intended to let love into my heart. All I knew was hate and cruelty, but love came in the form of Christine, and seemed to fit into my world perfectly."

Kathleen heard the tears in his voice and her own tears bathed her cheeks as she felt the longing in him for those things all humans want, love and acceptance.

Bitterness crept into his tone again as he continued his story, "But a childhood friend turned Christine's head and distracted her. I wanted her to have the chance to sing for the world, but de Chagny wanted her to be a pretty bauble on his arm."

Erik began to pace, his hands clenched into fists. "If the young Vicomte had not interfered, she would be mine now!"

"But if she exposed you, how could she have loved you?" Kathleen asked quietly.

Erik turned around quickly, his face twisted in anger. "I could have made her love me! Music brought us together and it and my love for her would have sustained us!"

Kathleen wanted to argue against his horribly flawed logic, but she held her tongue, realizing that in his state of mind he wouldn't listen if she tried.

He turned back to the window and looked out morosely, his voice quiet again. "He made her betray me. I had made the way clear for her to become the opera's reigning diva. I taught her everything she knew, and she repaid me with betrayal!"

He turned pain-filled eyes to Kathleen. "I thought she was the one who saw past my monstrous face to the beauty in my heart. But no one sees past…this." He pointed a trembling finger at his face.

"I had set my own trap for her. I wrote an opera and forced the company to perform it. So the Vicomte and the opera managers planned to use the opening night to capture me at last. During the performance, I killed Piangi, the man who was playing her lover, and took his place."

He paced a bit as he spoke and then sat down on the settee, weariness etched on his face. "The song we sang together came from the depths of my heart, and she sang as if it came from hers too. But at the very last it was as if she remembered her duty and she unmasked me." Tears were flowing unchecked down his bare cheek now, and the mask caught the rest. "I cut the rope I had rigged to hold the chandelier's counterweight in place and sprang a trap door beneath Christine and me just as the chandelier began to fall. It took us to my chambers below. Just as I had planned, de Chagny found us while the opera burned above our heads. I took him prisoner and forced her to choose either marriage to me or death for him."

As he spoke, Kathleen thought, _There is madness in this bitter, hurting man. How much further into madness did he go than this?_

Erik continued in a dead tone, "I had killed for her before, to bring her gift to the world, and I was willing to do so again just to have her for myself. But then she accepted my challenge. She offered herself to me to save his life." He made a little choking sound in his throat and looked at Kathleen with aged, red eyes. "She was willing to give her life to me to save him. I suppose that must be true love."

He dropped his head into his hands as he told the rest in a miserable whisper. "We could hear the mob bearing down on us, so I told them to run and leave me behind, making them swear never to tell what they knew of the angel in hell. Then I fled for my miserable life, though I should have let them catch me and put me out of this wretched existence."

"So that's why you crave death?" Kathleen asked. "To pay for your hideous crimes?"

He nodded his head slightly, but did not look up at her. She came to the settee and sat down beside him. "I feel your shame for what you've done, Erik. If you were a purely evil man, you would not care at all that you let revenge and hate rule you. I don't mean to excuse murder—violence is never right, but had you been trained up the right way as a child and loved as children should be, perhaps you would have had better control."

"Any man should know better than that, Kathleen!" Erik retorted. "Any man with a single logical thought. When I let myself become angry, it was as if a beast took over my thoughts and actions, and—and this blind rage just crowded everything else out! Perhaps Buquet deserved to die. He was a wicked, lecherous womanizer, but I killed him because I was angry that my commands had not been obeyed, my plans to further Christine's career. And Buquet was also poking around my domain telling things he should have known better than to even hint he knew about me. That other man, Piangi, I just needed out of the way, and by then it had just become second nature to act on my rage."

He looked up at Kathleen then as a man on trial awaits a verdict. "What will you do, Kathleen, now that you know all about my crimes?"

His face was almost as pale as his mask, and Kathleen saw the conflicted emotions there. What should she do? He was not wanted in America, nor really in France any longer, she realized. She decided that she had to tell him the rest of Clareesa's tale from Paris, for she had seen the changes being made in him since he had begun interacting with the children. What better way to overcome the sins of one's past than to give to others? Erik obviously had so much to share with the children, and this was a much better solution that having him put in prison or executed. And hadn't he been in prison for most of his life already?

Before Kathleen could voice her thoughts though, a hesitant knock on the door brought them both back from their separate worlds of thought. She was closest to the door, and so she opened it.

Toby, a boy of mixed race who was a recent arrival at the orphanage, stood outside looking ready to jump out of his skin from fear. His light brown eyes were large and troubled.

"Toby, what is it? What are you doing out here when you are supposed to be in bed?" She said kindly, but firmly.

The eleven year old lowered his eyes and stared down at his scuffed boots. "I—I wanted to ask Mr. Erik a question," He mumbled.

Erik came to the door and bent over to be more on the boy's level. His voice was a bit gruff when he said, "What is it you want to know?"

The boy looked even more spooked and he rubbed a brown hand quickly across his face as if he were wiping away sweat. "Could—could you, uh, teach me to play the piano?" He blurted out.

He raised his creamy brown face to Erik's then, and his eyes begged for a positive answer.

Erik looked up from Toby for a moment at Kathleen, and the questions hung between them. Was he still welcome to stay, he wondered. And would he stay if he were welcome?

"Please?" Toby whispered.

"Yes, you can learn to play the piano, Toby," Erik said, patting the tight springy curls on the lad's head, as wondering who the teacher would be.

Kathleen came and took Toby's hand. "We will talk about it more tomorrow," she said. "Now off to bed." And she sent him away with a kiss on the forehead.

Toby gave yelp of joy as he jumped off the porch and laughed as he turned around. "Thank you, Mr. Erik!"

Erik watched as he scampered back toward the house and shook his head, already feeling badly about making the boy think he would be his teacher. But that could not be, he knew. His time here in this place was over. He turned sad eyes to Kathleen.

"Toby there is one reason you must stay, Erik," she said. "You can teach these children so many things, and learn so many things _from_ them as well. I think you can pay for your sins better alive than dead."

Erik closed his eyes and sighed with relief as tears began to fall again. He dropped to the floor and sat with his knees up and his arms folded across them. He bowed his head as cleansing sobs reverberated though his tired body.

Kathleen touched his shoulder, giving a light caress before leaving him. She felt an intense desire to wrap her arms around him, but at the same time, a need to distance herself from him to sort through all he had told her. The rest of Clareesa's story would have to wait until another time for she was exhausted, though she knew sleep would be long in coming tonight.

Thank goodness there was Baby Josie to help fill the long hours ahead.


	12. Home At Last

**Home At Last**

Kathleen was glad for the routine of Saturdays, for even though they all slept in late that day, it was busy with laundry and housecleaning. All the children had a share in the chores and Kathleen was not able to think much on the previous night's drama while supervising the children.

Usually cleaning day was a time of laughter, even though everyone was working. Water fights at the wash tubs were great fun, and sliding down the banister while polishing the woodwork helped lighten the work load. Sheet draped ghosts flitted about the big house when the bedding was stripped from the beds.

Some of the children were more subdued since James and Dorcas had left with their new parents, but soon they too were enticed into the merrymaking.

The older girls took turns helping Kathleen with the mountain of laundry and keeping Josie content. Priscilla, too, played with the baby for a time and then ran into the back yard and hugged a tree, looking longingly at Erik's house. He had not put in an appearance at breakfast or dinner, and the little girl could not seem to start her day off right without seeing her "Mithter Erik."

Kathleen caught herself glancing at Erik's house as well, wondering if he had actually stayed or sneaked away in the night. Finally, at mid-afternoon she had her answer.

"Kathleen!" Erik's angry roar carried across the lawn. The man himself came charging toward her, a terrified boy grasped by the scruff of the neck in each of his large hands.

Kathleen dropped the wet laundry she was hanging and rant to intercept the trio. "Erik! What on earth are you doing to those boys?"

The two looked as if they would faint on the spot as he dropped them in a heap at her feet. "They were smoking in my privy and set the floor on fire!"

A rather green-faced ten-year old Jackson set up a wail like a three year old and thirteen year old Tommy looked pale, though a mischievous twinkle still gleamed in his eye. Suddenly Jackson lost his lunch all over Erik's polished black boots, as if to add insult to injury. Erik looked at his splattered feet and a nerve began to twitch in his jaw as his face flushed bright red.

"Erik—" Kathleen gasped, desperately trying not to laugh as she attempted to say something to ease the situation.

Erik glared at her in outraged disbelief. "I fail to see what is so damned funny about this, Kathleen!"

"Don't swear—Erik," she managed before turning away and giving into gales of laughter.

Erik looked at her as if she had just sprouted an extra head, then stomped off. The boys too looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

Kathleen finally regained her composure and was able to see to Jackson. Then after getting the girls back to their laundry hanging, she went to find Erik. It wasn't hard. He was making a fine racket as he took up the charred floor boards of the privy.

_He's blowing off a head of steam_, she thought, still amused by the whole Jackson affair. Erik ignored her, though Kathleen knew good and well he realized she was there.

"Jackson is sorry about your boots, Erik. He said he would polish them for you," she said by way of a peace offering.

He still refused to acknowledge her as he tramped to the back of the cottage for scrap lumber and a hand saw, measured the pieces, and began to saw them.

"Erik, what are you so angry about?" Kathleen huffed, her patience wearing thin. "The privy, or that I laughed at you? I'm sorry, but it just struck me as funny and I couldn't stop it." She threw up her hands in exasperation. "I needed a good laugh after last night, to tell you the truth."

That stopped Erik in his tracks. He stood to his full height and turned to her, pinning her with cold green eyes. "Glad I could oblige you with a good laugh, Mademoiselle!"

Kathleen moved to stand before him. "I did not mean to offend you, Erik. And the boys will be punished. They will paint the privy for you and will also lose recess privileges for a week." Her lips curled into a smile. "I doubt poor Jackson will soon forget his first attempt at smoking."

Erik's face lost some of its tense angry look as he went back to his work, but he still did not speak.

Kathleen tried one more time. "You know, you might have tried something like that as a boy…" She suddenly cut herself off and bit hard on her lip.

"If I had been a normal boy, you mean," Erik finished, looking up at her from his work placing the new boards in the privy floor.

Kathleen turned away, mortified by what she had said. "I'm really making an idiot of myself today!" She muttered miserably.

Erik's warm, broad hand grasped her arm and turned her back toward him. "I know you didn't mean anything by it," he said softly. "You were just making an observation." A small smile tickled his lips. "I over-reacted about the privy and my boots." He looked down at the dull boots and the smile grew wider. "Though I will let Jackson polish them. I suppose I am still learning about the things that boys do—what children do." He held Kathleen's gaze warmly. "I have much still to learn about the world, it seems. I've been locked away far too long."

"You had good reason," Kathleen said. "Which reminds me, I didn't get a chance to tell you the rest of what Clareesa told me about Paris, and it is important to you."

Erik's expression told her that he would rather not hear about Paris at all, but she plunged ahead, knowing his opinion would change after she told him.

"Clareesa said the police claim to have found a man's body by a lake underneath the opera house and are calling it 'The Phantom's Corpse.' His face was badly burned, but there was still a charred mask on one side. Some of the people who had worked at the opera identified him as the man who had lived in the cellars and haunted the place."

Erik's mind raced as he listened to this incredible tale. It was true he had left his white mask behind just before his escape…and there was only one person he could imagine who would come and see if he had indeed made it to safety or if he had been killed. It had to be the work of Madame Giry, his one true, trusted friend.

_Someday, mon cherie, I will thank you after enough time has gone by_, he vowed. Suddenly a real sense of freedom filled his being. He smiled possibly the biggest smile he had ever smiled since coming to the orphanage.

"Thank you, Kathleen," he said and took her hand. He bowed and bestowed a courtly kiss on the back of her hand. She turned rosy and would not look him in the eye. She seemed flustered when she told him that she had to return to work. Erik chuckled and said, "Well now, I do believe we are even, my dear. I've floored you for a change!"

"Oh, do go on!" She shot back at him as she made her way back toward the house. Midway across the lawn she stopped and listened. Erik was whistling a happy tune and she smiled radiantly, knowing that everything would be just fine now.

However, her heart still pounded against her ribs and her face reddened again as she thought of his kiss. If she had looked into his eyes just then, her secret would have been secret no more.

Erik came to supper carrying Priscilla on his arm. The little girl was dirty from head to foot, but giggling happily at being with "Mithter Erik" again.

Kathleen's mouth dropped open at the sight of her. "What have you two been doing?"

Erik couldn't help but grin as he said, "She's been 'helping' me this afternoon. She mucked all the dead leaves out of my flower beds and is preparing them for planting."

He surrendered the filthy child to Kathleen, who sent her off with one of the older girls for a good washing up.

"You spoil her, Erik," she scolded, though her twinkling eyes took any reproof out of her words.

"The little mademoiselle charms me," he said in his defense, and took his usual seat at the end of the dining room table.

Jackson eyed Erik warily from his seat midway up the table and Erik winked at him. The rest of the children saw the exchange and glanced Erik's way cautiously, much as they had during his first meal with them, but soon quiet conversation blended with the sound of silver scraping on china, the way it normally did at mealtime.

Toby whispered loudly to the boy on his left that he was going to learn to play the piano because Mr. Erik had promised he could.

Tommy snickered at Toby from across the table, proclaiming, "Boys don't learn to play the piano! That's for girls!"

Toby's face fell, and Erik jumped to his defense. "I play the piano, Tommy, and am I not a boy?" He said sternly enough so that the whole table could hear. Every eye riveted on him and Tommy flushed with embarrassment and looked down at his plate.

Nine year old Monty piped up and said, "Yeah, but you're a teacher!"

Kathleen grinned at Erik from the opposite end of the table. Her expression clearly said, _Let's see how you get out of this one._

Erik rose to the challenge, looking one at a time into the faces of the children as he spoke. "There was a boy a long time ago named Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart who wrote his first piece of music and played it on the piano at seven years old."

A gap-toothed boy named Leroy called out, "That's how old I am!"

The rest of the children looked at Erik with wide-eyed fascination, as a chorus of "oohs" and "ahhhs" echoed round the table.

"When did you learn to play?" A girl of eleven asked.

"Not so young as Mozart, Victoria," he told her. "I was thirteen. I did learn to sing as a child though, and still enjoy it."

Kathleen looked surprised at this new revelation, but Erik simply shrugged and grinned self-consciously at her.

"Mr. de Parria plays the violin as well, children," she said. "So you see, you are very lucky to have such a talented teacher."

"Can we hear you play the violin?" One of the children asked.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have one right now," Erik told them, "but if Miss Flannery agrees, I will play the piano for you before bedtime." He looked to Kathleen for consent.

"Pleases" rang out everywhere around the table. Kathleen smiled and gave her permission, but told them dishes would have to be done first. Mrs. Maloney always cooked the meals, but Kathleen let her go early on Saturday evenings and she and the children did all the cleaning up.

The dished probably had never been done with so much order before, or with so little fuss. Soon afterward, the parlor was crowded with sixteen children sitting on the couch, chairs, and floor.

Erik played a Mozart for them and several other lively pieces. Then Kathleen brought out a sheaf of popular music from several years before. Erik did not know the words but played while she led the children in singing.

Kathleen's heart felt near to exploding as she stood at Erik's shoulder to read the words. It felt so right to be here at his side sharing in his passion for music.

He sang a song in French to finish the evening and his smooth strong baritone held Kathleen and the children in awe. They had never hears such a performance in all their lives.

Later, after the children had all been sent to get ready for bed, Kathleen and Erik put the parlor back to rights.

"You have a nice voice, Kathleen," Erik said, closing the piano lid and looking over his shoulder at her.

"My voice is nothing compared to yours," she said as she straightened the couch cushions. When he had first began to sing his song, warm tingling sensations had rushed through her veins, and were with her still. When she finished her chore, she sat down on the neatly-arranged couch and studied him. "You, Erik, have a truly marvelous voice. I am no authority, but I can sense that a voice such as yours should grace the stage."

"Ah, but that can never happen, as we both know," he said dryly, but without bitterness.

"It is a shame," Kathleen said, and then smiled at him. "But this way we can keep you all to ourselves here, without you running off around the world."

Erik noticed that look in her eyes again, that something that was more than just happiness over the evening's fun. He was tempted to ask her about it, but held himself in check. His heart was still wounded by Christine's betrayal and deep inside he wondered if all women, even this one, were prone to such cruelty.

But still he held his hand out to her. "Shall we go see how they are progressing?"

She took his hand, surprised by his offer to go upstairs to check on the children. He helped her to her feet then let go of her hand and took a step away from her. She felt hurt by his quick stepping but gave no indication of it. He held the door for her as a gentleman should and was actually chatty as they walked up the stairs. He said he had enjoyed the evening and spoke of the children's reactions and did not even notice her subdued responses.

While Kathleen went into the first of the two girl's rooms, Erik went on down the long hallway to the large room at the end that she indicated was the boys' room.

Erik could hear a series of thumps and muffled childish cries coming from behind the door and he opened it and stood there for several seconds without being noticed. A pillow sailed across the room and knocked one of the younger boys flat on the floor. When the lad stood up again he suddenly saw Erik standing there. Just then the others did too and made a mad dash for the bunk beds.

"Gentlemen, are you ready for lights out?" Erik said in a tone of voice that clearly indicated that there was no other option.

Leroy piped up from his cocoon of blankets, "What's a gentleman, Mr. de Parria?"

Erik had to think for a moment, for he wasn't used to answering children's questions. He walked to the center of the room and said, "A gentleman is a man or boy who acts with good manners toward all people, and especially to ladies."

Nine year old Monty screwed up his face. "I don't like girls! They're stupid!"

"Now, Monty, a gentleman has to be nice to everyone, even people he doesn't really like," Erik said, pulling the boy's blankets up to his chin. Erik leaned closer to him and Monty sank into his pillow, his eyes wide.

"Believe me, in a few years you will change your mind about girls," Erik promised with a smile.

"Yeah, Miss Kathleen ain't stupid, Monty!" Jackson added. The other boys agreed with this statement, except for one.

Erik noticed that Tommy was the only one not attending the conversation. He was rolled over on his side, his face turned toward the wall.

_Probably still smarting from my treatment of him today_, Erik decided as he crossed the room and turned down the gas lights. _I will have to seek him out tomorrow and try to make friends with him. This new life is nearly exhausting at times!_

He backed out the door and closed it behind him. When he turned around, he jumped in fright, startled to see Kathleen's shadowy form leaning against the wall in the dim hallway.

"You are almost as good at scaring people as I was!" He joked.

"I'm sorry," she said with a tired smile. "I was just enjoying hearing you talk with the boys. It's a new thing for them to have a man to talk to, since the only one they have ever had around before is Zeke on occasion."

"I can see that I am going to have to replace this sad mask soon," Erik said, touching it gingerly. "The children still don't seem to know what to make of it, and if I don't it will completely disintegrate soon and really will scare someone."

"Oh, that reminds me," she said, stepping away from the support of the wall. "Stay here a minute. I have something for you."

She walked briskly down to her room at the opposite end of the hall. A light flared momentarily in her doorway and then she returned carrying a small brown paper package. She gave it to him, and he turned it over in his hands for moment, studying it, wondering what it contained.

"I nearly forgot about it yesterday," she said. "It arrived just before Clareesa came but then I didn't see you at supper last night…"

"I know the rest," he said ruefully. He peeled back the paper to reveal a perfectly formed mask made of leather that was the exact color of his skin tone. He examined it thoroughly and said appreciatively, "How ingenious!" as he saw the thin wire earpiece and tiny clip in the nose hole, made to hold the mask snugly in place. He turned away from her and removed the ragged old mask, replacing it with the new one. Then he showed Kathleen.

"It fits amazingly well! How did you ever do it?"

"I kept the plaster mold you made of your face before you made that mask and took it to a costume designer at a theater on Broadway to make the new one from."

He smiled and she was glad he was pleased with it, for it gave her great pleasure to do this for him, to give him something that would make him feel more secure in his new world.

He stepped forward and placed a brotherly kiss on her cheek. His soft breath tickled her ear as he whispered, "Thank you very much, mon cherie."

Kathleen's traitorous heart pounded at his closeness and she stepped away from him. "I—uh—can have another one made anytime you need one," she rushed to say.

"Maybe I should have a black one made for evening wear," he teased.

Kathleen thought she could care less what color the mask was as long as he was the one behind it.

"Goodnight," he told her, and his long strides carried him down the hall and out of sight as he descended the stairs.

Kathleen went back to her room on legs that trembled a bit and closed the door behind her and leaned against it for support. She was so very weary, but her brain would not rest.

She felt at once the urge to cry and the urge to throw something.

Instead, she went to her bedside stand and opened the drawer. She reached for the framed photograph inside and sat down heavily on the bed. She had not looked at it since Erik had come, but she did now, burning every detail of the young soldier's handsome face into her memory. A tear plopped onto the glass and she wiped it away. "Oh, Sam, why did you have to die in that bloody war? I could not love you as completely as you wished, but I still would have been a good wife to you."

She rose restlessly to her feet and went to the window. She could not see Erik's cottage through the trees, and it saddened her. She looked down at the picture again and said to Sam, "Now I know how it must have been for you to be in love all alone."

She looked back through the window and stood up on her toes, straining to see the house just once through the darkness. She gave up finally and sighed, "And this must be how he feels about Christine," and closed the drapes.

Baby Josie stirred in her basket and Kathleen returned the photograph to the drawer and went quietly to the baby's bed to see if she was waking up. Josie squirmed and frowned but then stilled and slept on. Kathleen's gaze traveled over the tiny girl's round face.

"Sweet little one, you could have been mine and Sam's," she cooed to the infant and stroked the wispy strands of hair on her soft head. "But now I want a little boy with Erik's dark hair and emerald eyes."

Immediately she clapped her hand over her mouth, horrified by what she had just said, wondering where that wicked thought had come from. She stalked to her bed and flung herself face down, groaning, "Pray, Kathleen! Pray that God will take this burden from you!"

And she did.


End file.
